


Flu-like symptoms

by Carbon65



Series: Graceland snapshots [1]
Category: Graceland (TV)
Genre: AU: canon parallel, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Food, Gen, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Illness, Vomiting, familial communications, weight loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2663153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carbon65/pseuds/Carbon65
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything bad starts with flu-like symptoms, the same way any protein can taste like chicken. Mike can’t let fatigue and an upset stomach get in the way of his work</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flu-like symptoms

**Author's Note:**

> _Trying this again, with the full fic..._ Hopefully the formatting comes out correctly and I don't jump the gun.
> 
> For the H/C Bingo round 5 prompt, "Minor Illness"

> `Mike,`
> 
> `Now you’re back in DC, we should resume family dinners. See you at seven thirty on Wednesday.`
> 
> `Love,`  
> `Mom`
> 
> `------------`  
> `RJ Warren, Esq., CPA`  
> `Tax Law specialist`

The Warrens have never been a family that communicated in traditional ways. Or, maybe their channels of communication are conventional enough for some relationships, but not for a mother and children. Adam Prescott, the former Mr. Rebecca Jane Warren, had never understood the yellow half-sized pad on the counter, the post it notes on the mirror, or later, the string of emails and text messages. He’d called it the “Ships passing in the night” method of communication when he was feeling charitable. When he wasn’t so charitable, Mike’s father had explained, “That bitch loves her job more than me.” Mike’s parents had divorced before he was ten, his mother taking the kids, the house she’d bought with her paychecks, and the stack of yellow sticky notes.

Ships passing in the night it might be, but it works for them. Mike’s father is a good man, but he is a romantic. Mike’s mother is a pragmatist. It was Mike’s mother who taught him to work hard. It was Mike’s mother who showed him that you can work seventy hours and make it to every high school football game, every choir choir concert and every Science Olympiad awards ceremony. (Although not every golf match; golf season intersected tax season too closely). It was Mike’s mom who taught him that if he worked hard enough, he could do anything.

> `Mom,`
> 
> `Can’t wait to see you. I’ll add it to my calendar.`
> 
> `?Mike`
> 
> `--------`  
> `Mike Warren`  
> `Office of the Deputy Director, FBI`
> 
> **`NOTICE` ** `: This email (including attachments) is confidential. If you are not the intended recipient, please be aware that any retention, dissemination, distribution or copying of this communication is illegal and may result in a fine of up to $50,000 or five years in federal prison.`

Before he joined the Bureau, Mike and his mom met every week for dinner. Working for the deputy director, he finds that he’s running later, postponing dinner, and even outright canceling more and more often. It’s probably just the pressure of the work he’s doing. His mom understands. She knows what it’s like to get caught up, obsessive even, about what she does. He had a big win, taking down Jangles, and now, they’re rewarding him. So, why does the reward seem like punishment? Why does this seem more like a ball and chain, more like a job, than a vocation.

> **MWarren (703-537-3212)** : Running late for dinner. See you at 8.  
>  **Mom (703-542-3320)** : Everything alright honey?  
>  **MWarren (703-537-3212)** : Just got caught up with something.  
>  **MWarren (703-537-3212)** : I’ll met you at the restaurant. Where do you want to go?  
>  **Mom (703-542-3320)** : That taco place in old town?  
>  **MWarren (703-537-3212)** : Anything but tacos.  
>  **MWarren (703-537-3212)** : ...Or fried food.  
>  **MWarren (703-537-3212)** : ...Or Italian  
>  **MWarren (703-537-3212)** : Can we just go to the bistro on King?  
>  **Mom (703-542-3320)** : I’ll see you there. Love you, honey.

Mike isn’t sure why, but he’s struggling to keep up with his work load. It’s not that his work has gotten heavier. At Graceland, he ate, slept and breathed his work. It was constant, all around him. At first, it was hard, harder than here even. At first, he had to work to constantly remember his lie. Now, he has to work constantly to stay focused and keep himself from telling a lie. Or, maybe he has to spend more energy keeping his lies straight. It was easier when he was Mike the Marine during the day and Abby-who-likes-crab’s boyfriend at night. It was easier when he was Paul’s porno buddy. It was easier when he was Levi at Graceland. Now, he’s tried all the time, and he’s having trouble keeping his lies straight.

> _Mike--_  
>  _You either need to stop working out or buy new pants. My tailor does good work._  
>  _(703) 979-2062_  
>  _\--Mom_

His pants are a bit loose, but he’d gained weight in California. It was the street food. And the tacos. And the beer. And the pancakes. And pho. And the beer. And the hot pot. And the burgers. And beer. And the Sauce. Oh, God. He would kill for Charlie’s sauce. No, really. He would get out his gun and shoot someone for Charlie’s sauce...

He tried to work out while he was there, but he’d put on a few pounds. So, he works out now, when he can. And, maybe he’s a little hungry, but his body was just used to all those calories. Somehow, though he’s worked out a balance of exercise and food where he can eat anything he wants, and maintain or lose weight. Well, almost anything he wants. Some nights, he’s gone back to his barren studio and thrown up in the perfectly white toilet bowl. And, some nights, he’s gone back to Jessica’s and flushed away the evidence as well.

But, he’s not losing weight. Well, he is, but it’s not a problem.

> `Mom,`
> 
> `I’ll see you at Thanksgiving. Is Kelzie coming this year? I’ll bring the pie. Pecan again?`
> 
> `Mike`
> 
> \--------  
>  Mike Warren  
>  Office of the Deputy Director, FBI
> 
> **`NOTICE` ** `: This email (including attachments) is confidential. If you are not the intended recipient, please be aware that any retention, dissemination, distribution or copying of this communication is illegal and may result in a fine of up to $50,000 or five years in federal prison.`

Mike believes in being honest with himself, even when he can’t be honest with anyone else. He’s a bad cook. And, by bad cook, he’s managed to burn water. More than once, even. Not that he’s willing to admit that to anyone else. He probably wouldn’t be able to feed himself if it wasn’t for the bunny macaroni, instant potatoes, soup in a can, and cereals with the word “frosted” inserted before something that should be healthy.

Well, and pie. Mike’s one saving grace in the kitchen is his ability to make pie. Somehow, despite the inability to bake biscuits, cornbread, pancakes, cookies, cake, crisp, crumble or cobbler, Mike mastered pie crust. He might have been trying to impress a lady. ...Okay, maybe he’d just been trying to prove a point to his older sister, Kelzie that he was not entirely a menace in the kitchen. It had only taken about 500 attempts.

So, two days before Thanksgiving, Mike goes to the store for supplies. Somehow, baking a pecan and two pumpkin pies does not just involve flour, sugar, butter, eggs, karos syrup, nuts, vanilla extract, pumpkin, heavy cream, and the patented Mike Warren Mixture of Pie SpicesTM, but also a few gallons milk, some orange juice, and a bottle of sparkling water. Except that Mike has never liked carbonate water. He’ll tolerate mineral water, but it’s not something he’d normally spend money on. Except that he does.

> **MWarren (703-537-3212)** : Can’t come. Feel like hell. Think I have flu.  
>  **Kelzie-Welzie(507-335-3251)** : Afraid to meet my bf?  
>  **MWarren (703-537-3212)** At least the thing I’m hugging is *supposed* to be full of shit.  
>  **Mom (703-542-3320)** : Do u need anything?  
>  **MWarren (703-537-3212)** Could use more OJ.  
>  **Kelzie-Welzie(507-335-3251)** : Did u finish the pies?  
>  **MWarren (703-537-3212)** Yes.  
>  **Kelzie-Welzie(507-335-3251)** : Did u contaminate the pies?  
>  **MWarren (703-537-3212)** dunno.  
>  **Kelzie-Welzie(507-335-3251)** : ...! I hate you.

His sister and her boyfriend arrive at his apartment just as he’s gotten back to bed. He feels like his insides are all twisted up. And, he’s feeling almost too weak to get out of bed and answer the door. At least he’s off the john.

At least Kelzie doesn’t examine the apartment. Darren does, though. He knows his place is sterile. It’s not like spends much time here. The studio came mostly furnished. The rest came from Target and Savers. Mike is tidy, for the most part, but he’s been too sick and too tired the past few days to take out his trash. The pile of juice containers has piled up. He can’t stop drinking it, and he figures it has vitamin C, so it’s probably good for him, right?

Kelzie takes as much time examining Mike as Darren does the rental unit. Kelzie is a third year resident at Mayo. Mike’s sister diagnoses him with the flu.

> `Mike,`
> 
> `If you get me sick, there will be consequences. I hope you can afford my fees, because it’s almost tax season, and I’ll charge you for every day I miss. You might be making money, but you can’t afford me.`
> 
> `Let me know when you feel better.`
> 
> `Love,`  
> `Mom`
> 
> `------------`  
> `RJ Warren, Esq., CPA`  
> `Tax Law specialist`

After Thanksgiving, he drags. He’s not sick. He swears, he’s not sick. He just hasn’t entirely gotten over being sick. He doesn’t know where his mom got that impression. Or, if he is, it’s not anything major. He’s just tired. It’s not like he has SARS, or Swine Flu, or Mono, or any one of those other stupid diseases that happen in the winter. He knows what they look like. He lived with them for enough years. His father was six different kinds of a hypochondriac.

It’s been a long fall. It’s been a hard fall. He caught one of the biggest serial killers on the West coast. He took a long drive across the country. As far as Mike is concerned, the less said about Kansas, the better. He got a job working for the assistant deputy director of the FBI. He started a tryst with the assistant deputy director of the FBI.

> **Kelzie-Welzie(507-335-3251)** : Mom says you’re still sick.  
>  **MWarren (703-537-3212)** Shut up. Im not sick.  
>  **Kelzie-Welzie(507-335-3251)** : Touchy!  
>  **Kelzie-Welzie(507-335-3251)** : Mikey...
> 
> **Kelzie-Welzie(507-335-3251)** : Mikey, are you there?
> 
> **Kelzie-Welzie(507-335-3251)** : C’mon Mike, answer my damn text. I know you haven’t lost your phone.
> 
> **Kelzie-Welzie(507-335-3251)** : Mike, pick up your damn phone.

Kelzie acts like she’s the hero, swooping in and “rescuing” Mike. Mike doesn’t know how he feels about heroes, anymore. Maybe doctors get to be heros. Maybe FBI agents do, if they do things just right. The thing is, he was supposed to be a hero, and he’s not.

He’s dangerously dehydrated. Not dehydrated like happens when you go into the desert and don’t drink enough water and your piss turns yellow from not passing enough, but a special kind of dangerously dehydrated that happens while your pee stays clear and you try to drink enough water for a family of five, or a group of bangers trying to learn to shoot straight in the California heat.

She tries some things, goes to the pharmacy, comes back, does some more. Kelzie is quick and quiet and efficient. She’s her mother’s daughter, too, even if she hates post-its. Really, he’s okay with most of it, as long as she gives him his water bottle and lets him sleep. He’d be better if he had some of Charlie’s Sauce, but since Charlie is either back in Jersey or at Graceland (probably Graceland), he doesn’t mention it.

He draws the line when Kelzie gets out the vial and the little plastic syringe with the needle.

_You are not giving me a shot for the flu,_ he complains.

_You still think it’s the flu?_ Kelzie’s laugh is bitter.

His older sister packs him a bag and takes him back to his mother’s. She settles him in his old room with a bottle of water and a note scrawled on white printer paper.

> _MIKEY --_  
>  _TEXT ME WHEN YOU WAKE UP._  
>  _\-- KEL_

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for: Diabetes; Diabetes Diagnosis
> 
> I readily and freely admit that I have a problem about writing diabetic characters. So, um, yeah, getting the "Hypoglycemia/Low Bloodsugar" prompt sort of inspired this. And then it took off.
> 
> So, I sort of smirked at the “minor illness” prompt, and took a ... creative interpretation. Mostly my interpretation of “minor”. But, by the time I hit my fourth diagnosis of a chronic disease, almost anything disease related is referred to as a “minor” illness or “minor” inconvenience until after the fact, unless it lands me in the hospital. I know Mike violated the rule, but, take it in a tongue-and-cheek spirit.


End file.
